


On the head of a pin

by Mangacat



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2176371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangacat/pseuds/Mangacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has always been the one person who could make Neal do all the things he never wanted to, even though he really needed to do them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the head of a pin

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Whatever I am about to do with them is simply my imagination, but not my copyright… and I don’t even get a penny for doing it.
> 
> A/N: Well, since I seem to be fandom hopping all the time lately and bingo is really detrimental for RL-work... let's just say I've recently caught up with this amaaaazing little show and then Birdie made a comment. And it got my brain boiling. *sigh* I take no responsibility. I hope you guys have fun! This was originally for the hc_bingo square 'dub-con' in 2010.

__  


Neal Caffrey prides himself to be an artist a lot more than a con-man really, although he likes that his particular artistic skills are a lot more extraordinary than most other people’s, too. Over the years he’s learned to talk himself both into and out of every situation with a charming smile and the right words flowing off his lips with less effort than it takes him to handle the coffeemaker.  


_ Improvisation is the key. _

 

When Neal strides into the office to drop of the last reports after the almost disaster with the Colombians, the room is flooded by dusky light and devoid of people. He drops the paperwork onto his desk and belatedly notices that there’s still one illuminated room on the floor – Peter’s office. His spine stiffens as the realization sets in that this isn’t over yet. 

 

_ Observing tells and details, using information to his advantage, playing someone to get what he wants is easiest when there’s always a certain amount of truth among the lies. It does make it harder to tell the lies apart from the truth though and he’s been in the business for long enough that lines are not something he crosses anymore, he just walks them until they lead where he wants to go.  _

 

He should have known that he was not going to get off the hook so easily. Peter had had to maneouver around a lot of shallow depths today to keep him out of some big trouble and Neal knows he’ll have to pay for his carelessness soon enough.

 

_ With the recent developments in his life, he feels out of his depth, in the wind, like nothing fits together anymore, least of all his criminal integrity. More often than not, he finds himself dragged into situations where fast talking and a quick wit is not the thing that actually matters, on the other hand there’s these choices he has to make between what is right and what is easy. These things used to be the same thing.  _

 

Neal knows the exact moment Peter spots him through the glass and he can’t help the small spark of fear igniting in his gut, followed by something else, something different he has yet to dare and name. A sharp look has his feet moving before he even gets to process the command, trailing smoothly up the stairs with his patented swagger, yet his features are wiped of all the usual cockiness and pretense. Instead, Neal knows, his face is set with an expression of vulnerable apprehension that he can’t seem to drop anymore when they come together like this. 

  __

_ It unsettles him how he brazenly walks into danger these days, sometimes with only a thin pane of glass between him and a pissed off mob boss. The thing is, it’s not the danger itself - he can handle himself in tricky situations - but the knowledge that he has people who care to back him up out there, who’ve come close to loosing their lives or their jobs to ensure his well-being. It’s a special kind of trust that has snuck up on him in the most inopportune moment and suddenly it’s there and he has no idea how to deal with it.  _

 

Neal shuts the office door behind himself with a soft click and turns around to face Peter with his hands forcibly relaxed at his sides, minute tremors the only give-away that he knows what’s coming. Peter sits there unmoving, reclined in his office chair with his pen tapped against his lips, eyes locked on Neal, waiting for him to start fidgeting – which he refuses to do of course. Instead, he keeps his body as still as possible, breath shallow and a single bead of sweat trickling down his spine, just to see if he can goad Peter into the first move for once. The raking eyes send shivers all over his body though and when Peter slowly moves to lay his pen down on the paper strewn about the desk it startles Neal into action before he can properly grasp for words. 

“Peter, I know… I…”

The older man stands abruptly, the chair skidding across the carpet and the sudden movement makes him flinch. Neal feels his eyes widen and his throat turn dry as the words die on his tongue. 

“Come here and put your hands on the desk where I can see them right now.”

 

_ In his world, trust is the most precious thing to ever be gained or given and he absolutely does not understand how it’s suddenly become such an easy feat for him. There is however one person who seems to follow all his trains of thought just fine, and who is willing to translate these feelings into something Neal can grasp – power. Because power is an integral part of his life and it’s very easy to understand. So he gives in, even though his whole being bristles at the thought. _

__

~*~

 

Neal steps forward with weak knees and bends a little to spread his hands on the shiny flat surface at the edge of the desk that is completely cluttered with folders and paperwork otherwise. His heart pulses in this throat, the caged feeling almost cutting off his air while he stares relentlessly out of the window behind the vacated office chair. Peter steps around the desk and then reaches over his hands to retrieve the pen, chest brushing Neal’s arm, shirt stretched tight across heated skin. Peter sets the pen down next to his left wrist, tracing the contours of his fingers slowly and deliberately, a minute touch that does nothing but ignite the sensitive nerves under the thin skin.

“I’ve always noticed that you have beautiful hands. An artist’s should be, I suppose, they are your capital after all.”

The unexpected words rip Neal out of his reverie and suddenly he’s aware how close the other man stands by now. The next words are whispered directly next to his ear. 

“Do you know what will happen to these hands if you fall in with the sort of people we dealt with today?”

 

The message is sharp and clear, it sends shivers all over his body, but Neal knows it’s  a  rhetorical question anyway, he has to let Peter play out this lecture on his own. Strong fingers slip into his collar, making it just a little bit more difficult to breathe. 

“Bones broken, tendons cut, muscles ripped apart… there’s so many possibilities and so little actual damage to do to make them completely useless.”

Peter suddenly pops the top button of his shirt with his thumb and tugs at the tie to loosen it up. Neal gives in to the temptation of taking a couple of deep breaths even though the sudden rush of oxygen makes him dizzy so he has to close his eyes. They fly open again when Peter’s right hand slides over the slick skin at his nape, thumb pressing relentlessly into the tense muscle at the base of his neck, eliciting a sound that might have been a moan. Still, he doesn’t dare remove his hands from the desk without permission, even though his knees are close to buckling from that simple touch. The energy that springs up between them is palpable, a stalemate of irresistible force and immovable object. Peter’s fingers trail over the back of his hand and up his wrist to the cuff of his shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Neal tries to breathe evenly through his nose, but suddenly Peter’s other hand is there, digging into his hip, into the v of his legs and a surprised gasp slips past his lips. 

 

The hand on his neck slides up into his hair and grabs it to bend his head back with a vicious tug. Neal feels his muscles protest but he still doesn’t dare move as he catches Peter leaning in out of the corner of his eye. Hot breath ghosts over the racing pulse at his throat and sends a quiver down his spine.

“Do you know why I still don’t trust you enough to leave you on your own?”

The low hiss makes heat pool in his belly, blood rushing from his head with a dizzying speed.

“Because you go off and almost get yourself killed and I can’t lose you like that.”

Peter crowds against him from behind, Neal has to let go of the desk now to accommodate his new position and his feet spread wider on their own accord. The hand on his hip travels up slowly onto his chest to claw in right over his heart like a vice. The cruel touch sends a stab of pain up into his head and he bucks against the strong grip involuntarily, but he’s stopped short by an almost accidental brush of a thumb over the hard nub under his shirt. 

“You are my responsibility, mine to control, mine to protect, mine to _punish._ ”

 

Neal drowns in the sensual overload from the gravely, low voice, but his mind latches onto the words like they’re a lifeline amidst crashing waves. His whole essence rebels against being claimed like that, his body locked in a struggle, half a mind to run, half a mind turn around and claw his way up against a rock. Yet he’s completely still save for the harsh panting breaths, suspended by pure, undiluted willpower – he’s not sure whose. He feels his thighs tremble with the effort and the hand leaving his chest to stroke over his abs, soft almost soothingly. Neal wants to slap the hand away, elbow his way out of the constricting embrace, but he can’t, he just…

 

__ Please, move, let me go, let me the fuck now…

  
“Don’t fight, you know you don’t need to… just, let go.”

 

And the world explodes into a blinding high and it feels like there’s no coming down.  
  
Fin  
  
  



End file.
